


And tomorrow never came

by flyingisabetterwordforfalling (FlyingFalling)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Canonical Character Death(s), Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grieving Marius, Multi, Sad Ending, Survivor Guilt, the tiniest bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFalling/pseuds/flyingisabetterwordforfalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he steps closer, the young man utters a sigh. It has long been ceased to be a cry of pain, after all he does not know whether he can still feel more than the longing for his past. Almost every thing and every person he had set his heart on is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And tomorrow never came

As he steps closer, the young man utters a sigh. It has long been ceased to be a cry of pain, after all he does not know whether he can still feel more than the longing for his past. Almost every thing and every person he had set his heart on is gone. What means love, felt for a single person if any other person you once loved disappears forever? Of course, for her, for his beloved's sake, he was grateful for still being alive.

He still lives through the last hours. He senses the subliminal tension, fear, all these emotions were still there.

He had saved Gavroche and Courfeyrac, or could at least give them a few more hours, gain them at least more time. For Bahorel it was too late, he had been too late. The bayonet had pierced him before he could reach him. He looked at the boy, as well as Courfeyrac, had wanted to prevent them from the same fate, threatened by the guards, and had shot. Pistols in both hands he had angrily thrown himself at the attackers. The cries for help of his friend, the death of the other, the supposed helplessness of the child -Marius had not been able to stand idly by.

One of the lads had been shot through his hand and he felt again helpless, saw no way out. No other way, as to even blow up the barricade. He was not a leader, but Enjolras had firmly looked at him and appointed him as such. He, Enjolras -the man whom Marius looked at as the true leader. Not himself; in his opinion, he was none other than just Marius Pontmercy.  
A little later, someone had once again, due to his carelessness, been killed. How could he have been as grievously mistaken as he had been. The poor girl, Eponine, had died under his care, her life slipping through his fingers. She had therefore saved his life and given her own in return.

He remembers the young poet, who all too soon departed this life. Like all the others. His words of hope, love, desire for freedom still hung in the air. Just like his last words.  
When finally the boy died, Combeferre was forced to literally throw himself on Courfeyrac to restrain him from rushing to Gavroche. At the time Marius felt hardly anything. Expect the desire to take vengeance, anger, sadness, fear for those still alive. He heard the soft words of Combeferre in contrast to Grantaires pained outcry when Courfeyrac lay whimpering in his grieving besides him in the street filth barely hidden, from their attackers, by their barricade. Marius had then followed his friends without thinking, the gun ready, as Courfeyrac carried back the boy's lifeless form.

He had not seen all of them fall, however had seen some of their bodies and heard of the others' deaths in the aftermath. One of the last, he saw alive was Enjolras, soaked in red, but that could have been a mirage, as well. Marius was bleeding from many wounds, at the time, his vision had been blurred. He lost consciousness soon after, before he was forced to witness his death as well. He had once again been saved. Marius still could not tell why he deserved all this.

The debris of former dreams surrounded him. The ideals of his friends destroyed. Limping, he settled on one of the still standing chairs, rejects the crutch against the wall, its former place, from when it had a different owner. He wondered if one of his friends had been sitting here, for the last time before death took all their lifes away.

He sees the now open space, and dreams about seeing them all reunited here once more. Young people, proclaming their opinions, discussing about the future. He sees the blond leader, at the head of the table, his speech as powerful as the flag raised in his hand. He sees Combeferre, standing at Enjolras' side, a faint smile on his lips as he listens to the words of his friend. Courfeyrac on his other side, a hand on his shoulder, Enjolras always in the center of the other two. A gentle smile of Courfeyrac, as he also touches Combeferres shoulder with the other hand. He imagines Feuilly to sit there, attentively listening, but every now and then raising his voice, and talking about the suffering of the children forced to life on the streets of Paris, and all over France. He thinks of Bahorel, how he teached Gavroche how to play card games even more so how to cheat. And of Eponine, Eponine, as she sits in her disguise between all of them, and also listens.  
He almost believes to hear the laughter of Bossuet as he and Joly share one of their jokes with each other, the way they shared everything else. He almost wants to smile when he thinks about their drunken banter, indecent conversations about their shared mistress which made him blush, even though Marius never heard the full stories. Their meetings were not always about politics, they were mainly a group of friends. Les Amis was not their name for nothing, still they were also the friends of the suppressed.

In the small corner, where he once sat, he still felt the presence of Grantaire, some bottles lay shattered on the floor. As broken as the bodies of his friends. He even imagines to hear the echo of Grantaires words, mocking, yet full of gentleness, once he solely looked at their blond leader and harsh and sorrowful once he looked away. All of them had been connected with one another, now the ties had been cut. In deep mourning for his friends, he now sits alone.


End file.
